Journey to the Center of the Earth

A can of cola, an unfilled bathtub for dirty bodies and storing empties.
The land-line's nagging, the mail is scattered on the floor, and through a
keyhole of a triple bolted door, it’s melodrama, it’s confused chemicals.
It’s dirty laundry, it’s empty styrofoam.
The Giants won and all the firecracker shells are littering the street and I
don’t give a shit.
My shoes ran off somewhere and I haven’t even cared to organize a search.
My ball of nerves, don’t mistake me, I’ll refuse you if you choose to track me
down.
And don’t you make me leave without wishing you well 'til I return from my
brief sojourn to the center of the earth.
As far as I tell you it’s not as bad as all of that, and I promise not to be
reckless.
Oh heart of mine, heart of mine, it’s your face that brings me back every time.
It’s dirty laundry, it’s empty styrofoam.